


A Party at June's

by facetofcathy



Category: White Collar
Genre: Bob - Freeform, Character of Color, Community: month_of_june, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June plays host to some familiar faces and some wild cards.</p><p>Written for <span><a href="http://month-of-june.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://month-of-june.dreamwidth.org/"><b>month_of_june</b></a></span></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Party at June's

**Author's Note:**

> While I call this story gen, there are some non-explicit pairings of various kinds, including June/OMC. In some quarters such a story is known as Bob.

"Why are we doing this again, El?"

Elizabeth resisted the temptation to punch Peter on the arm; he'd asked this question three times just in the time it took her to get him to change his tie. She knew he was not a man who was fond of parties, least of all parties full of strangers. Strangers who were statistically more likely to be felons than was usual. She knew that, and she could cope without resorting to violence.

"Ow! What was that for?"

She ignored that question in favour of making one more attempt at answering the first one. "We are going to June's party because she asked us to, she's a good person, and she's currently boarding Neal for a lot less than she should be charging. Keeping her happy seems like a good idea."

"She's not boarding Neal. You make it sound like the same thing as leaving Satchmo at Shady Acres when we go on vacation. She's carousing with Neal and all his criminal cronies because she likes them."

"She likes you, too. Odd isn't it?" Elizabeth said sweetly.

"If you're in a mood, we can just go back inside the house, we don't—"

"Peter."

"El."

"I'm not in a mood, and we're going."

"Fine," Peter said. He backed the car out into traffic. "So who did we invite? Not that I understand that part either. I'd ask why everyone who was invited had to invite someone else, but I'm afraid you'll punch me again."

"See, you're learning. We invited Eli Visconti." Elizabeth looked at Peter, waited for him to remember.

"Right, the guy with the $500 tie and the five-dollar words."

"That's how you've got Eli Visconti filed away in that mug book you call a memory? He owns the biggest Impressionist gallery in Manhattan, and please try to remember he's a client who throws big parties that he pays very well for." Elizabeth figured she'd scored big getting Eli to come. June would love him. He was into art, not forged, granted, but still, he was June's age, and they would hit it off fabulously. "That tie did not cost $500."

"I notice you're not arguing the five-dollar words, though."

  


* * *

  


"Elizabeth, you look lovely," June said, reaching out to grasp the other woman's hand. "And Peter, so distinguished." Peter glanced down and then gave her that smile that made him look like he needed a dentist. Funny, she'd always thought it was Neal that brought that out in him. "Nice tie," she added.

"We invited Eli Visconti, the gallery owner?" Elizabeth said, and she looked a little expectant, maybe a little hopeful.

"Ah," June said. "Perhaps you might want to keep him away from Neal. Just to be on the safe side."

Elizabeth looked a little worried for a moment, but then her face cleared. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"It's possible," June answered. She pointed Peter and Elizabeth into the living room where most of the guests were.

Mozzie had just arrived, and if Elizabeth had looked a little self-satisfied, Mozzie had clearly had the canary, then the cream, and gone back for seconds of both.

"June, this is Kobina Nyarko. Kobina, this is June. Isn't she wonderful?" June had to suppress a laugh. Mozzie looked as if he had conjured both Kobina and herself out of the ether just so they could get busy being perfect for each other.

"Mr. Nyarko, Mozzie has mentioned you. You're with the UN, I believe?"

"Kobina, please, and Mozzie exaggerates, but only because he is a man who loves a little drama." Kobina turned a fond smile Mozzie's way. "I was in a very unimportant office there for some time, but I am retired now. I spend my time playing chess with my friends," he laid a companionable hand on Mozzie's shoulder, "and talking about the good old days."

"I've always found Mozzie to be a very good listener. Mozzie, dear, why don't you show Kobina around? The food is up on the terrace, perhaps you can start the migration upstairs?" Mozzie dutifully towed his friend inside. She could only imagine that Elizabeth Burke's guest would be as suitably aged and refined as Mr Nyarko. She might have to introduce them to each other.

  


* * *

  


Peter turned around, looking for El while trying not to imagine every face in the room as a mugshot. He turned back and the one person there he knew was a felon was standing two feet away and grinning like a--Peter checked for his wallet. Neal placed his hand on his heart and pouted at him. Jones was standing over Caffrey's left shoulder looking like he'd like to arrest someone just so he could leave. El would call that projecting, and she'd be right. "Jones, what are you doing here?"

"I invited him," Neal said. He looked like he wanted Peter to thank him or something, so Peter just narrowed his eyes suspiciously and said nothing. Neal hated silence. He tugged Jones forward. "I wanted to make sure there'd be someone you knew here. You know, someone you can relate to."

"Backup, you mean." Peter said.

"Peter, it's a party not a stakeout."

"Says, you," Jones said and eased into the spot hugging the wall beside Peter. They had a good view of the guests arriving and a reasonable sight-line on the stairs up to the roof.

"Ah, Cruz is here, good. We can have her man the roof," Peter said, pointing at the new arrival.

Neal turned his attention onto Cruz, and Peter smirked as Neal's whole body seemed to lean towards her. He had no chance there.

"Who is that guy she's with?" Neal asked. "I think he's wearing actual Harris Tweed." Neal smoothed a hand down the immaculate front of one of his skinny little suits and made to slope off to intercept Cruz and her date, guest, whatever.

"Tell her to report in," Peter said before he could get away.

"Party, Peter. Try to remember that. Oh, nice tie, by the way."

  


* * *

  


"Lauren, what a surprise. I'm so glad June invited you," Neal said.

"I think that's Agent Cruz to you, Caffrey," she said with that smile that Neal could never quite decipher. Was she laughing at him or with him? Her guest certainly perked up at the mention of his name though, so _Agent Cruz_ had been telling stories about him. Interesting.

"Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey," he said, pouring on the charm and offering his hand. The guy had the grip of a man who'd never done a dishonest day's work in his life. The tweed was the real thing too, and was probably a real hit at whatever Ivy League joint this guy'd been sprung from for the night.

"Dr. Phil Steer." Cruz supplied the name, because Phil seemed to have lost his tongue. "He was my thesis adviser, but now he's at Harvard, when he's not visiting New York, that is."

"Fascinating," Neal said, happy to be right about Phil. "Oh! Your thesis, as in—"

"The one about you, yes."

"So you're Neal Caffrey," Phil said. "I've always wanted to meet you."

"I get that a lot." Neal ignored Cruz's rolled eyes. "Why don't I show you around, Phil, and we can get to know each other. Oh, and Agent Cruz, Peter wants you to report in." He led Phil off upstairs. "So tell me, Phil, just why didn't Lauren think my exploits with the Romanian National Bank drafts were worth more than one tiny paragraph in an appendix?"

  


* * *

  


"Cindy, darling, who's this?" June gave the slightly disreputable young man her sternest look.

"Joaquín, Grandmother. I've told you about him."

"Ah, the artist, yes. Joaquín, Cindy tells me you're interested in ﻿Renaissance art, in fact your Da Vinci _inspired_ drawings caused quite a stir last semester?"

Joaquín smiled a little sheepishly and murmured a polite yes, ma'am.

June hummed, unconvinced. She would have to see if this humility was genuine or not. Too much, and Cindy would walk all over him; not enough, and June would see to it for her. "Go have fun, darlings. Just remember how many people here answer to Agent as easily as their first name."

  


* * *

  


"June! This food is fabulous." Elizabeth had a plate in one hand along with a full glass of wine. The glass in her other hand had nothing but dregs. "I don't suppose you'll tell me who your caterer is?"

June smiled easily, took a sip of her Champagne. It wouldn't do to look _too_ eager to help Elizabeth out. "Oh, I have his card somewhere." She shrugged helplessly. "I'll look for it."

Elizabeth peered at her suspiciously. "It is hard to find someone good you don't have to book months in advance."

"Oh, it is, dear, I know." June could see Mozzie lurking under a stone gryphon trying to get her attention. She was almost ready to notice him.

"This was supposed to be Peter's," Elizabeth said, setting down the empty glass and starting in on the full one. She held up the trio of ﻿hors d'oeuvres arranged on her plate and looked them over with a critical eye. "The presentation is really exceptional," she said almost wistfully.

"I'm sure I'll find the card in my bag, or well, one of them, anyway. I'll send it into work with Neal." June patted Elizabeth absently on the arm, noticed Mozzie, and turned away.

"Oh," Elizabeth said, "did you get a chance to talk to Eli? He was very interested in meeting you."

"I think I saw him downstairs talking to Clinton. Baseball, I believe, was the topic of discussion." June escaped towards Mozzie, from the frying pan to the fire, but she was sure she could extract herself when she needed to.

"Mozzie, Kobina," she said, nodding to the second man. "Enjoying the evening?"

"Your home is very special, June," Kobina said.

Mozzie started crab walking sideways, trying to make an unobtrusive exit. June turned her attention to him, noticing Kobina's smile of amusement. Good, he found Mozzie charming, half the battle was won. "Mozzie, would you be a dear and bring us the smaller chess set from the den."

"Absolutely, yes. Right away." Mozzie backed up a step and then turned and strode off.

"You play?" Kobina said.

June turned back to him. He was a very handsome man; she had to admit, Mozzie had very good taste. "I have been known to enjoy moving the pieces around on the board," she said.

"Mozzie is a very good opponent. When he forgets that he believes he is not."

"Yes, that's my impression too. You know each other well, then?"

"You learn about a man playing chess with him," Kobina said. He gestured to a pair of chairs at a small table tucked into the shadows. They sat together, sipping their drinks, watching Cindy and Lauren Cruz dancing with Cindy's young artist friend.

"I think many people think he is a joke, with his glasses and his foolish airs and his politics that haven't been radical in a very long time," Kobina said.

"And you don't?"

"Long before I came to New York, I was a very radical young man myself. In Ghana there were many such young people, and we were going to transform Africa and then set to work on the world. The suits, as Mozzie calls them, were going to give way before the sheer power of our ideals. You remember those times?"

"Oh, yes," June said. "I remember those times very well."

"It didn't quite come out like we thought it would." Kobina sipped from his beer and watched the children dancing. "And maybe some of those ideals have changed, some of us have found new windmills to tilt at. At any rate, it's nice to talk to someone who knows that radical means more than wearing Señor Guevara on a t-shirt."

"You know that Mozzie has other interests besides conspiracy theories and chess?"

Kobina laughed. "Oh, my dear, June. Yes, of course. I know he is a thief—a very good one when he forgets that he believes he is not."

June tilted her head in question.

"Your Neal casts a very long shadow."

"My Neal?"

"Isn't he, after a fashion?"

June laughed, even though she knew Kobina's choice of word was not idle. She would have to have him back, with Mozzie of course, for a more intimate dinner, and perhaps sometime when _her Neal_ was not at home. It should make for a very interesting evening. "Perhaps he is," she said. "And perhaps I should see if I can find him."

She stood up, smoothing her skirt absently. "Mr. Nyarko, it has been a pleasure."

He bent over her hand in a way no one had done in years, with no irony whatsoever. "Mine as well," he said.

"I expect Mozzie will be back shortly. If not, I'll manoeuvre him in your direction."

"I'm counting on it," Kobina said.

She circulated like a hostess should, chatting to her guests, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. She watched Cindy enjoying herself for a while and made sure Mozzie had returned with the chess set and was engrossed with Kobina, the board, and a bottle of gin before she headed back downstairs.﻿

She'd passed Neal, tucked up in his studio teaching Dr. Steer how to forge the signature of a certain Drew Gilpin Faust, which meant he was as out of trouble as Neal ever got.

She passed through the living room and saw that Elizabeth had found Peter again. They were examining the Vermeer Neal had painted for her. It was tucked into a corner and required them to stand very close together to see it.

The time seemed right to pay a visit to the kitchen.

The catering crew had vanished, leaving a gleaming and pristine kitchen behind them. Their boss was gleefully destroying that perfection. "What do you call that?" June asked.

"I believe," Paul said, looking up from his creation to flash her a smile, and oh, how that smile worked on her, "that the technical term for this is a Dagwood."

"It looks more like a man's reach exceeding his grasp."

Paul shook his head sadly. "June, June, darling, June, such lack of faith—"

"Couldn't make a dent your formidable ego?"

"True," he said. "Join me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she said and stole the pickle off his plate before she sat down. He was not suitably aged or refined, and June thought he was just about perfect.

"And so, darling June, have all your Machiavellian schemes come to fruition?"

"This was a party, dear, not a conspiracy. I only had the one scheme, and it's coming along nicely." June accepted half of Paul's creation and set about dismantling it down to a less daunting size.

"Mrs. Burke liked the food?"

"She loved it," June said and bit into her reconstructed sandwich.

"And?"

"Oh, the sandwich is fabulous, too," June said innocently.

Paul rolled his eyes and attacked his unreconstructed tower of food.

"She asked for your name," June told him. She didn't want him to stew for too long, she had plans for his volatile energy, and she didn't want to waste it on mere conversation.

"And?"

"I'll make sure she gets it at the right time."

"So what other schemes did you cook up while I toiled over a hot stove?" he asked.

"Actually, how do you feel about a dinner party?"

"For how many people?"

"As a guest, Paul."

"You mean someone else cooks? And I wear a suit and have to actually talk to the guests?"

"You'd be fine," June said.

He pretended not to watch her while he reassembled his sandwich into a slightly more reasonable height. She gave him her best poker face.

"It might be fun to actually see you scheming rather than just hear about it after. And I'd get to meet some of these questionable characters you hang around with," he said.

"You've met Neal," June said with a wry smile.

"I don't think stumbling into each other in a dark hallway wearing nothing but our underwear counts."

"The version of that story Neal tells doesn't have any underwear in it."

  


* * *

  


"So that's over," Peter said happily.

"Peter!"

"What? I hate parties. This is not news."

"It was fun, even if Eli did spend all night with Clinton. I think they're going to a Mets game next week."

"Ha! You were trying to set up June with your gallery person."

"I was not, I just think June might be a bit, you know, lonely. It was not impossible that sparks might fly." Elizabeth was still hoping that June was pleasantly enough disposed to her to turn over the name of that caterer, even if Eli had been a bust. "The food was fabulous," she said.

"I preferred the gorgeous woman I got to spend the evening with."

El preened a little, then frowned. "You didn't like the food?"

"Personally, I would have been happier with a ham sandwich with a little Swiss cheese, maybe some nice mustard, and a cunningly executed garnish of dill pickle."

"Don't ever change, honey."

"I wasn't planning on it."

**Author's Note:**

> The OCs in this story are all named for Impressionists with the exception of Kobina Nyarko who is a contemporary Ghanaian painter (who bears no relationship to the character that shares his name other than place of birth). You can see some of the artist's work [here](http://www.african-encounters.com/Gallery-Kobina-Nyarko_8.aspx).


End file.
